EscapeWithMe (11 page)

Chapter Seven

Ryder boiled with rage. His hands shook as they pulled on
his breeches. His shirt was soaked with street water, so he put on his coat and
balled up the rest of his clothes. His anger only grew when he noticed his
pocketbook was missing. After shoving his muddy feet into his shoes, he jogged
toward the Shakespeare’s Head Tavern to retrieve Oliver.

His teeth gnashed as he imagined what Mrs. Hayes was
planning for Samantha. The fright in her voice as he was being carried away
rung in his ears. The thought that another man would be in there with her, or
even worse, that Mr. Hull might hurt her… He broke into a run.

He had to free Samantha, any way he could.

The street lighting grew brighter once he entered the
piazza. Already, fruit and vegetable merchants were carting in their wares for
the morning market. They and the patrons of Covent Garden’s several taverns and
bagnios meant that the area was constantly busy, either with the sale of
produce or the sale of altogether different merchandise. His dishevelment
proved a boon, for the prostitutes took him to be a man without means and they
ignored him as he passed.

Near the Shakespeare, Ryder found his driver lounging by the
coach, talking and laughing with several coachmen. Oliver held his mug tucked
against his chest as though he had been working on the same drink for quite a
while. His friends, however, were in their altitudes if the redness of their
cheeks was any reliable indication.

“Oliver,” Ryder called. Understandably, his driver didn’t
spot him immediately. Ryder had never been in such disarray in front of him
before. When Oliver found him, he squinted as though he disbelieved what he
saw. His driver’s confusion would have been comical if Ryder weren’t so
enraged.

“Sir?” Oliver asked as he stood straight. His companions
turned to observe, amused but silent.

“Unsurprisingly, that harridan has shown her true nature. Do
you know if the magistrate is sitting up tonight?” Ryder opened the coach door
and tossed his soiled clothes onto the floor of the coach.

“You’re going back, sir?” Oliver asked. He then downed the
last of his ale and handed the empty mug to his nearest friend.

“Of course,” Ryder said irritably.

“But she’s just a whore, sir.” Oliver’s friends guffawed
rather loudly. The laughing quickly faded, though, at the expression on Ryder’s
face.

“Do not forget that I am your employer. Even the most
tolerant of men have their limits.” Intimidation had the desired effect. Oliver
nodded hurriedly and stuffed his hat onto his head. “Leave me at the apartment
and then fetch a pair of constables. I’ll pay their fees, and we shall
rendezvous at the brothel.” Ryder stepped into the coach as Oliver climbed up
to his perch. They were off in only a few seconds.

Ryder sat uncomfortably in his damp, soiled clothing, his
anger only matched by his anxiety. The night was not yet over, and a handful of
sin-filled hours were yet to be had before the denizens of London eventually
found their way to bed.

He had to make sure that bed wasn’t Samantha’s.

* * * * *

With Ryder gone, Sam had to quickly reevaluate her options.
Her only remaining method of escape would be scaling down the building, a bad
idea for someone still fairly drunk with no shoes and nowhere to go, and she
wasn’t ready to openly and brazenly bash at the door with the nearest object,
so she sat on the bed and bided her time.

After a tense hour went by in the dark silence of her room,
she heard footfalls on the stairs. It certainly wasn’t Mr. Hull, but Sam’s
stomach cramped all the same. The footsteps grew louder as they approached her
door.

“Miss Samantha?” Mary whispered. “Can you hear me? Are you
all right in there?”

With great relief, Sam went to the door, pressing her hands
against the wood. “Mary, let me out. Please!”

“I wish I could, miss, but Mr. Hull is at the front and his
friends are eating in the kitchen at the back. There’s no way…”

Sam gnashed her teeth. “Damn it. Where is Mrs. Hayes now?”

“In the salon. One of her best clients just arrived. She’s
got the other girls entertaining him, but…”

“But what?” she asked.

“The duke always gets the new girls. I wanted to warn you.
Best brace yourself, miss. Mrs. Hayes’ll have him up here soon. She’ll have Mr.
Hull take you to the biggest room. It’s one floor down.”

Sam closed her eyes and laid her forehead against the door.
“Thanks for the warning.”

“I found your clothes. I left them in the room downstairs,
wrapped up in a bit of linen. They’re under the bed,” Mary said. Her voice
became a whisper. “A bottle of laudanum is in the drawer, miss.”

“Thanks,” Sam said flatly. It wasn’t what she had wanted,
but Mary had helped as much as she could. She had to be smart and take that
opportunity for what it was.

Mary was gone only a few minutes before another came to her
door. Mr. Hull jammed the key into the lock and turned it with a frustrated
growl. When the door opened, he seemed surprised to see her standing there and
braced himself. A couple of seconds later, he relaxed. A maid Sam didn’t know
stood behind him with a candle.

“She’ll get you ready for His Grace.” He spoke the last two
words with rancor.

Sam entered the hallway and pretended to be oblivious.
“Who?”

The maid turned and led the way downstairs. Mr. Hull laid
his meaty hand on the back of Sam’s neck and pushed her to follow. “A crusty,
hopper-arsed beau with a bountiful corporation.”

Her stomach turned sour, partly from an incoming hangover
and partly from the picture Mr. Hull had painted of the duke. She didn’t
entirely understand what Mr. Hull meant, but the underlying gist of it hadn’t
escaped her.

They entered a familiar room. The tub was already full of
steaming water. The door closed and the maid reached for Sam’s robe. Mr. Hull
stood there, watching. Sam looked away with a sneer, knowing she couldn’t make
him leave. When the maid pulled the chemise over her head, she briefly felt
dizzy and had to put a hand on the maid’s shoulder until the feeling went away.

She was going to need some more wine if she wanted to
survive the next hour or two without getting a massive headache. Once the maid
had gathered Sam’s hair in her hands, she bid Sam to get in the tub. Sam did so
and sat down with haste, unable to stand Mr. Hull’s stare. The maid put a few
pins in her hair to keep it up, and then scrubbed her back and arms with a
sponge. Sam detected scented oil in the water, lavender. It did nothing to
settle her stomach.

After the maid finished scrubbing Sam’s legs, she braced her
hands on the tub to stand up, but Mr. Hull loudly cleared his throat. Sam looked
over and her stomach cramped again to see an erection tenting the front of his
breeches.

“That West made good use out of your honeypot. The duke
doesn’t like a buttered bun,” he said with a lurid smile. Sam looked at the
maid, whose jaw was clenched. The maid’s eyes slid to her face with reluctance.

“Pardon me, miss,” she said. The sponge still in her hand,
she reached between Sam’s legs to wash her. Sam gasped, her entire body jerking
in shock. She bore it for the few seconds it took before the maid stood and
turned away. Sam kept her eyes down, thoroughly humiliated.

The maid returned with a towel, bid her to stand up and
gently guided her out of the tub. She wrapped the towel around her, but
otherwise let Sam dry herself. She then proceeded to dress Sam in a blue
chemise, blue stockings and a white corset with bright-blue ribbons that were
left loose. After taking the pins out of her hair and combing it, the maid
declared her ready.

Mr. Hull’s hand returned to the back of her neck as he
pulled her out of the bathing room and across the hall to a bedroom. Though
certainly the most expensively furnished room she had yet seen, it wasn’t done
up at all how she expected. The four-poster bed was draped with yellow French
chintz, which matched the bedclothes and the daisy-patterned wallpaper. The
mantle above the fireplace, which held an active fire, displayed several
Chinese pots and a creamware plate. A couple of upholstered chairs were spaced
about the large room as well as a lovely vanity and matching nightstand.

It could have very well been the bedroom of an elderly woman
if not for the paintings hung about the room that, like the ones in the salon,
depicted naked women in various phases of the sexual act.

“Nice bit of space for a hump,” Mr. Hull said. His hand
still clamped the base of her neck, and she felt all the more sullied for it.
“His Grace will be here shortly. Give him a nice tumble and Mrs. Hayes’ll
reward you.” He stepped closer and the smell of smoke was overpowering. She
gagged. “Otherwise, she’ll give you to me.”

Hull
let her go and left.

Her heart was racing. She did a quick search of the room.
Her original clothes were under the bed as Mary said. The drawers in the vanity
had various powders and paints for makeup. Atop was a tray holding an open
bottle of wine and two glasses. She could find no dresser or armoire, and in
the closet hung just a couple of dresses. The last drawer she checked was in
the nightstand. Inside was a small, brown-tinted glass bottle containing a
clay-colored liquid—the laudanum.

She pulled the cork out of the bottle’s short neck and took
a whiff of its contents. “Oh G—” Her face turned away from what could be best
described as pungent.

The distinctive sound of Mrs. Hayes’ laugh was growing
louder, as well as footsteps on the stairs. Sam quickly dumped a few good
spoonfuls of the bottle into the open wine and stashed the remaining laudanum
with the makeup. Standing by the bed, she put one hand on one of the bedposts
and the other on her hip, canting that hip to one side and hoping she looked
sexy, or at least willing.

The door opened. Mrs. Hayes was looking back and laughing as
she entered. “Your Grace has such wit.”

Sam couldn’t control her reaction when a familiar face
walked in. The duke was a middle-aged man with a large, round belly and so much
powder on his face that he could’ve worked at the circus. Sweat had mixed with
the powder at the edges of his fake hairline and turned crusty. The beauty
patch insensibly positioned next to his prominent nose made him the same man
that had been leering at her at the theater, and it was no wonder he had been
ogling her. He knew he was going to have her.

“
Mademoiselle
Samantha,” Mrs. Hayes said as
introduction.

Sam did her best to smooth the shock away from her face and
bowed as Milly had with the marquess. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I was surprised
to recognize you,” she explained. At least it was the truth.

“Yes, we did exchange glances at the theater.” His words
were already slurred. He gestured at her with his wineglass. “You look even
lovelier, madam.
Très ébouriffé
.” The duke’s pronunciation of French was
much better than Mrs. Hayes’. Sam was starting to suspect why the woman used so
much French.

“
Merci beaucoup
,” Sam said playfully for Mrs. Hayes’
benefit. She even smiled a little. The duke grinned and raised his glass in
salute.

“Does Your Grace require anything else?” Mrs. Hayes asked
with one hand on the door knob. Sam tightened her hand around her hip, trying
to stay strong, but panic was setting in.

“Leave us.” The duke swatted his hand dismissively in Mrs.
Hayes’ direction. The woman gave Sam a very pointed look just before leaving.
Smiling with satisfaction, the duke was oblivious to any awkwardness in the
room and walked past her to the tray with wine. Her heart shot up to her throat
as he refilled his glass. “You’re not as young as the last few of the new
girls,” he observed, “but you don’t seem disposed to ill humors. Your color is
very agreeable.”

“Your Grace is too kind.” Indeed, she was likely healthier
than most other women in the entire city, not just those near her age.

“Mrs. Hayes tells me you are from the colonies.”

“I am,” she said carefully.

The duke sipped his wine and turned to her. “I cannot
imagine living so roughly. I can hardly bear the country.”

“The colonies have their own cities, Your Grace.
Philadelphia, Boston, New York.”

“Pah,” he said. He made that same dismissive motion with his
hand, the lace at his wrist fluttering in the air. He drank much more deeply of
his wine then, taking several gulps. “Artless architecture, uncultured and
unfashionable people, horrendous savages prowling about…”

“Freedom, opportunity, untamed landscapes,” she countered.
The duke looked her up and down. She tensed.

“Untamed indeed,
mademoiselle
.” He set down his wine
and came closer to her. “You certainly make the colonies seem inviting.”

How long did it take for laudanum to have an effect? Did she
put in enough? What if the duke got her on her back?

The duke smiled lecherously. He was older, drunk, and only
after his own pleasure. She tried to tell herself it would be quick.

He stepped close enough that his large, soft belly brushed
her. Even with him wearing shoes and her wearing none, she was taller than him
by a couple of inches.

“I’ve never met a woman with both height and grace,” he
said. Sam could smell how heavily the duke had been drinking. His compliment
was sincere enough, but she couldn’t get herself to smile. “Nervous, are you? A
member of nobility can have that effect.”

The duke clutched her against his round belly and put his
slobbery mouth against her neck as he groped her backside. She gasped in
disgust, but he didn’t seem to notice and brought her hand against the front of
his breeches. He was half-erect and she froze.

She had to put her mind elsewhere, but she couldn’t refocus
her thoughts. The duke moved her hand over his erection, and he whispered crude
things about how he would have her.